


A Different Kind of Blue

by MessOfCurls



Series: Wax and Wane [18]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, College, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, House Party, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Porn With Plot, Post-Break Up, Pre-Game(s), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessOfCurls/pseuds/MessOfCurls
Summary: People do stupid things when they're on the rebound.Mike Munroe is definitely something stupid.





	A Different Kind of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Song recs:  
> Emoticons - The Wombats  
> Eyes Closed - Halsey
> 
> Not required reading, but these fics provide a little context: ["The Mike Thing"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6608185/chapters/15118750) and [Left Unsaid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500462)

        “Mike!”

        “Wha…?”

        “Your fuckin’ phone. _Man._ ”

Mike opened his eyes. The room was pitch black save for the light emanating from his nightstand; his phone vibrating loudly against the wood, begging for attention. He reached out from under the comforter and groped around, but by the time he had it in his grasp the vibrating had stopped.

Squinting through one eye, Mike checked the time. It was just after three in the morning and the realisation left a sinking feeling in his stomach as his sluggish mind jumped to conclusions. But when he read the caller ID, the feeling of dread changed to one of bemused curiosity.

It wasn't Emily this time.

        _...Chris?_

He could chalk it up to a pocket dial, it was the most likely explanation, and if it was actually important, Chris would call again. But Mike was awake now, just about, and though sleep seemed like the more attractive option, he was more than a little intrigued.

He rolled onto his back and returned the call, holding the phone loosely to his ear. It rang once before Chris answered, sounding far more awake than Mike felt.

        “Mike?”

        “You called,” Mike mumbled.

        “...Yeah, yeah, sorry. Did I wake you?”

        “Kinda.”

        “Sorry, m’sorry, man.”

        “Don't worry about it.” Mike lowered his voice, prompted by the irritated rustling of his roommate burying his head in his pillow. “You okay?”

It wasn't prying. In fact, Mike could have been referring to anything other than the elephant in the room. But the thought was there.

        “Yeah, yeah… _yeah_ …”

        “You out or something?” Mike asked, stifling a yawn as he knuckled his eye.

        “Nah. I'm just… up. Keeping busy.”

Mike heard what sounded like the faint slosh of a beer bottle before Chris continued; his words a little slurred; voice lazy and meandering.

        “So much work, right? It's like, just shoot me already, you know?”

       Mike managed a vague, sleepy sound of amusement. “I hear that.”

        “How're you anyway, man?”

        “Yeah… I'm good.”

Chris fell silent and, for a moment, Mike wondered if he'd accidentally hung up. But a quick glance at the phone put that theory to rest. If Chris had a reason for calling then he was taking his sweet time getting to the point.

        “What's up?” Mike prompted, wondering if the conversation was going anywhere.

        “It's been a while, right?”

        “Mhmm.”

Chris was quiet again, just long enough for Mike to let his eyes fall closed.

        “You, uh… you heading home soon?” Chris asked finally.

        “Home?”

        “Yeah. I was thinking… would be good to hang out, you know? Catch up or whatever?”

Mike opened his eyes.

        _Ah._

And just like that, Mike's curiosity was sated; the answer to the late-night phone call riddle solved in a sentence. Check in. Catch up. Hang out. They all meant the same thing when you read between the lines. The timing was too perfect. Months had passed without any contact and suddenly Chris wanted to see him? Just after Mike had learned about the breakup? With that in mind, it didn't take a genius to work out it wasn't mere coincidence Chris was calling him in the middle of the night, apparently out of the blue. 

        “Not soon.”

Mike paused, weighing it up. Sure, he’d received calls like this before, but he never expected Chris to be on the other end of the line. It felt like a bad idea, like something he should probably deal with when he wasn't rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He could nip it in the bud right then, or at least put it on the backburner until the morning. Then again...

        “...There's a party going on here next weekend if you want to head over?”

       Chris seemed to perk up, voice brightening. “Oh yeah? Room to stay over?”

        “Just you?”

It was a loaded question, but asked vaguely enough that Chris could give whatever answer he wanted. There was a longer lull in the conversation this time. Far longer than the relatively short reply warranted.

        “You heard ‘bout that, huh?” Chris mumbled. 

Mike heard him stifle a sigh.

        “...S’fine, m’fine. Don't even… s'fine.” Chris cleared his throat, brushing the words away before starting anew. “Yeah, just me. S’that alright?”

        “Yeah, sure.”

So, dismissive it was, and that suited Mike down to the ground. As much as Mike liked the guy, the prospect of being pulled into yet more relationship drama didn't fill him with the same gossipy excitement enjoyed by their mutual friends. Besides, he already had enough on his plate with the latest Emily business and Jess checking in on him daily.

Mike heard something that sounded a bit like a sigh. He rolled onto his side.

        “Could maybe take your mind off things?” he added encouragingly. “Beer, girls, guys, or whatever you're into now.” A lopsided smile played on his lips, unseen in the dark. “I've got hot friends.”

Chris huffed laughter.

        “Hmm. Hot friends, you say?”

        “I only have hot friends. New policy.”

        “Hah. Do I make the cut?”

        “Wouldn't invite you if you didn't.”

       Chris’ laughter filled Mike's ear, rich and throaty. “You're… you’re smooth. You know that, right?”

        “What can I say? Gotta stick to the policy.”

Chris hummed, considering it.

        “I guess I could be persuaded.” More laughter followed, softer this time but with the same dirty edge to it. “Sounds good, dude.”

        _What the hell are you doing?_

Flirting, maybe? Sort of? Just a bit? Was that what this was? Mike was still pretty sleepy, not quite awake enough to know for sure. The words were coming too easily, the leisurely back and forth they shared picking up right where they left off, no effort required. But there wasn't anything inherently wrong with that, right? What Mike did know for sure was that Chris was single and, after a few months of stringing on a dying relationship, he was single too. So what was the problem? They were just messing around anyway, just bullshit words that didn’t actually mean anything. Compared to some of the suggestive stuff Chris had sent him in jest, this was positively tame.

But then, he was thinking of how things had been before he'd paid Chris a visit; nearly a year in the past. One drunken night that Mike still found himself thinking about sometimes, remembering it all too vividly despite the haze. With Chris chuckling down the phone, it was hard not to think about it again.

        _Tone it down._

        “You got my details?” Mike asked.

        “Don't think so. Send them over?”

        “Sure.”

        “So… see you then?”

        “Uh-huh.”

        “Hmm... heh, okay. Looking forward to it. Night, man.”

        “Night.”

Mike stared quizzically at his phone before the screen went dark. He placed it on the nightstand, mind running through the conversation as he pulled the comforter up over him, wondering how he could convince his roommate to clear out for the night.

~*~

        “Oh, come _on_ , come play. Unless you're chicken?”

       Mike met the girl’s goading smile and shook his head. “I'll pass.”

        “What's the matter?” she asked, toying with the glowing band around her neck, bathing her fingers in a neon purple glow. “Scared to get beaten by a girl?”

Mike knew what this was; that playful tone, the hint of mischief in her eyes. This was going somewhere and he had a pretty good idea where. He didn’t know whose friend she was, or even her name, for that matter. What he did know for certain was she had killer legs, her white shirt was clinging to her just right, and she was giving him _that_ look.

        “Them’s fighting words, missy,” he said, raising his voice over the music then glancing at the guys either side of him, breaking into a disbelieving grin. He made a show of considering the proposition before slowly shaking his head again. “Still gonna pass.”

       She pouted, eyebrows lowered in a frown. “Really?”

        “If you want a challenge, you want this guy.” Mike patted Chris’ shoulder, gesturing to the blond. “Hell, he's beaten me before.”

       Chris peered at Mike over his cup. He swallowed and lowered his drink, smirking when Mike met his eye, a flicker of unspoken recognition passing between them. “You say that like it’s hard.”

        “Oh yeah?” The girl eyed Chris up and down, lips forming another dubious pout before curling into a smile. “Well, I say I can kick _your_ ass, too.”

        “Oh, you think so?” Chris asked, amused.

She grinned; a flash of white teeth flanked by hot-pink lips, made bright in the black light. Holding Chris’ gaze, she uncapped the marker pen tucked behind her ear and swiped a thick yellow line across the white of his shirt, adding to the other fluorescent doodles covering his chest.

        “Oh, I _know_ so.” She capped the pen and slipped it into her back pocket, looking up at Chris as she held out her hand. “Wanna prove me wrong?”

       Chris hesitated, then shrugged and took her hand, his smile back in place. “Sure.”

Mike leaned back against the trophy case and watched her lead Chris away until they were lost among the other white shirts and neon clusters of people.

        “Bro… What the fuck just happened?”

       Mike turned and drained his drink, raising an eyebrow. “What?” 

        “What do you mean, what? You seriously passing on that?”

        “The guy deserves a break,” Mike replied nonchalantly, shifting his weight against the glass.

       Elijah narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. “Munroe…”

        “What? It’s no big deal.” 

        “ _Bro_.”

       When Elijah’s incomprehension failed to fade, Mike shrugged, adding, “He got dumped.”

        “ _Ah_.”

        “Yeah.” 

        “Well, aren't you a noble motherfucker?”

       Mike smirked and tilted his head towards Elijah, leaning closer to compete with the music. “You remember him from school, right?”

Unlike the others - all strangers when he’d first pledged - Elijah was a relatively familiar face, having graduated from the same high school a few years before Mike and Chris. Still, that connection didn’t guarantee his awareness of the blond’s existence. It wasn’t like they’d travelled in the same circles back at school.

        “Kinda?” Elijah mused. “Don’t remember him being a hit with chicks though?”

        “Eh. People change,” Mike shrugged.

        “True that.”

       Elijah turned and joined Mike in looking out over the crowded room. “Well, he’s got the whole geek thing going for him, I guess?” He took another mouthful and smirked. “Hell, if he doesn’t get laid there’s something wrong. Have you seen this place?”

To say the party had a good turnout was underselling it. The darkened room was full; a sea of brightly-coloured partygoers and glow sticks spilling out into the main hallway and kitchen beyond. Black lights illuminated the graffiti-covered walls and brought the strategically placed plastic bottles filled with a mixture of water and highlighter fluid to life, made all the brighter by the blacked-out windows.

There was a good guy to girl ratio. Nothing was broken yet. It was a success, by anyone’s standards; a fact that was all the easier for Mike to appreciate safe in the knowledge that he didn’t have to deal with the clean-up job the morning after anymore, his pledging days long behind him.

Mike caught sight of Chris through the darkness, blond hair visible between the shoulders of the crowd separating them. The girl was still with him, holding Chris’ arm as far as Mike could tell.

        _Good for him._

Perhaps this wasn’t exactly how Mike had seen the night going, that late night phone call still playing on his mind, but the thought was genuine. Watching Chris now, being his wingman was good enough.

It was late afternoon when Chris showed up on his doorstep, the house already undergoing its transformation. Perhaps Chris had taken a little while to warm up, but he’d been on good form. 

When the first people started to arrive, Chris’ mood only seemed to improve. The blond had never been a particularly retiring person, but it was as if he’d finally switched on. He’d been able to hold his own with Mike’s friends, cracking jokes and getting into the spirit of things. Mike wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but Chris seemed… fine?

Mike hadn’t mentioned the breakup; the evening spent pre-gaming and hanging out, filled with bullshit nothing talk that didn’t amount to much. The timing hadn’t seemed right and it wasn’t his place. Not that he was complaining. Hell, it wasn’t like he _wanted_ Chris to be a downbeat mess over it. But to shrug it off so easily?

Mike watched Chris stoop down a little as the girl cupped a hand to his ear, saying who knows what. Whatever it was, Chris seemed to find it amusing.

He smiled to himself. Maybe Chris was okay with it after all. He certainly _looked_ okay. It was nice seeing him meeting people and having a good time. He deserved to have a good night.

Mike looked out over the crowd, but couldn't see the blond anymore. For a moment, he wondered if Chris had gotten lucky, but that notion soon went out the window when he spotted purple necklace girl talking with her friends with Chris nowhere in sight.

        “Munroe?”

       Frowning, Mike pushed away from the glass, scanning the room once more before glancing back at Elijah, absently mumbling, “I’ll catch up with you, man.”

His protest went ignored.

        “No, bro. Drinks. Kitchen. Now.”

        “Man, I…”

        “Come on, man. He’ll be fine.” Elijah raised his eyebrow. “Don’t make me make you.”

Mike hesitated. There were countless reasons why the blond could have gone. Maybe Chris had gone to get them drinks? Perhaps someone else had caught his attention?

His gaze returned to Elijah. The brunette was watching him expectantly, amused but unimpressed.

Chris would be fine.

Finally, Mike shrugged acceptance.

        “Sure.”

        “ _There_ you go,” Elijah said, smile broadening. He threw his arm around Mike’s shoulder, already leading him away. “Boy, I am gonna mess you _up_.”

~*~

Though most chose to stay bathed in the fluorescent glow inside, a few people were out in the backyard; some guys drinking on the lawn, a group of girls smoking on the back porch, and a guy throwing up in the bushes some way away. Some pieces of patio furniture were set up - chairs and a foldaway table - but they stood conspicuously empty. Sitting alone on a battered bench beside the tarp-covered grill, Chris’ presence was barely acknowledged. 

He placed his drink atop the grill and leaned back against the wood. Mind wandering, he retrieved a thick green highlighter from his pocket and held the lid between his teeth, pulling it loose.

        _Five minutes._

That was the deal. Five minutes of fresh air and he’d go back inside. Just five minutes and he’d go back inside and be fine again.

He held out his left arm and absently added doodles of his own to other pen-marks he’d received that night, tracing idle patterns across his skin.

It had felt good at first; a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He’d had a few drinks; just enough to dull his nerves, but not enough to make him lose control and say something stupid. He was meeting new people and saying the right things.

He drew a star. A ghost. A few lines crisscrossing over his skin.

He was in a good place, had found a nice balance. He’d always been good when it came to the light stuff. Everything was okay. Everything was normal.

He exhaled and turned his arm over.

Being normal was exhausting.

        _Five minutes and you go back in._

It _had_ felt good, for a while, but it always caught up with him eventually; a sinking feeling sitting just below his chest that threatened to bubble up if he didn’t force it down. He could make small talk. He could meet new people. But the names were forgotten the moment they were uttered; the words empty, devoid of any real value.

He drew a heart. A cloud. The beginnings of a name he stopped himself from finishing, erasing it with a few strokes of ink.

        _What are you doing out here?_

He knew what he was missing. He could hear the distant music. Maybe she was still waiting for him inside. Maybe she’d moved on. He hadn’t really been clear on his excuse for leaving, but she hadn’t followed.

It had been a nice distraction. A nice idea; so simple on paper, so _easy_. But being that close? It had felt...

Chris clicked the cap back on and placed the pen on his lap. Drink in hand, he watched more girls come out to the porch. His gaze returned to his arm.

        _Five minutes. That’s it. Nearly up._

He just needed some air. That was all. Five minutes of fresh air and he’d be fine again. That was the deal.

        “Hey!”

Chris lifted his head as Mike broke away from the group gathered by the back door. His hair was tousled, his white sleeveless undershirt more tagged up since the last time Chris saw him. 

       He lifted his hand in acknowledgement, smiling for Mike's benefit as he approached. “Hey.”

        “Sorry, man. I got caught up,” said Mike, covering the last stretch of lawn. “You missed out.”

        “Yeah?”

        “Yeah. Shots.” He gave Chris a lopsided smile. “I had yours.”

       Chris smirked. “Thanks?”

        “You’re so welcome.” Mike stopped a few paces away, smile turning curious. “Wasn’t expecting to find you alone. What gives?”

        “Hah…”

       The reply took Mike by surprise. Grin fading, he cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “You uh, you okay?”

        “Yeah, just getting some air.”

Mike waited for more, but the blond simply glanced down at his drink, falling quiet.

        “How did beer pong go?”

Chris’ smile became a self-deprecating smirk. He’d waited beside the paint-splattered table for their turn to play, arm in arm with the girl chattering enthusiastically in his ear, but their turn never came.

        “It didn’t, really.”

        “No?” 

Chris placed the cup on the ground beside his feet and picked up the pen resting on his lap, turning it over in his hand. For a moment, Mike thought to give Chris some space, maybe come back armed with fresh drinks. But as he watched Chris exhale, shoulders sagging, he thought better of it. 

        “You mind?” Mike asked, gesturing to the bench.

Chris glanced up from his hands and flashed Mike a smile before shifting over to one side. 

        “Your friends are nice,” Chris offered.

Mike settled into the space afforded him, wood creaking as he stretched his arm along the armrest and looked out across the lawn.

        “Yeah, they’re good guys once you get to know them.”

        “Yeah… Yeah, dude. They’re... nice.” Remembering himself, he perked up and met Mike’s gaze with a renewed smile. “Can’t believe you finally got me to one of these things.”

        “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chris held up his hands.

        “Nothing. No complaints here. I mean, hanging out with frat--” he caught the slip and corrected himself, “ _a fraternity_ … it’s not really _my_ scene, but yeah. It’s been fun.”

        “You say that like you’re leaving or something.”

        “You know what I mean.”

Chris was quiet again, leaving the thought unfinished. When no more came, Mike tried again.

        “Did you--” Mike began, but the question went unasked, cut short by the bench vibrating beneath them.

Chris quickly retrieved his phone from his back pocket. The screen lit up his face as he checked it, catching the stray ink staining his cheek. In the dim glow, Mike saw his smile falter before the vision was gone, the screen turning black. Without a word, Chris returned the phone to his pocket.

It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.

        “You heard from him?”

        “That obvious?” Chris asked, huffing bitter amusement.

        “ _Well_ …”

        “Nah. Not since…” Chris leaned back against the bench and trailed off to a shrug.

It was the truth. One Chris still couldn’t quite believe. There had been no texts or calls; a total radio silence that picked at Chris’ imagination and showed no sign of letting up. Stranded without contact, he had, despite his better judgement, resorted to checking Josh’s social media accounts, hoping to glean something from even the vaguest of updates. He knew it wouldn’t help, preparing himself for the worst each time, but every late-night search turned up empty. No posts. No pictures. Nothing.

Josh was gone, and that was that.

Chris forced a smile, made a little too tight by the nagging in his gut. Seeking distraction, he uncapped the pen.

        “...You wanna talk about it?”

Chris smirked and drew a zigzag line across his wrist, staring at it pensively. 

He’d talked about it. Not with any of their mutual friends, but with friends of his own. It was better that way, keeping it clean and separate to avoid the regular drama their friendship group endured. Besides, the idea of spilling his guts to Mike of all people was the last thing he wanted.

        “Nah, it’s okay, dude. Thanks, but we can go ba--”

        “Chris.”

A further protest was on the tip of Chris’ tongue, but when Mike fixed him with a look, he fell silent.

Mike watched him for a long moment. No matter how he dressed it up, Chris didn’t seem _quite_ as okay as before. 

        “Look, we can go back in if you want. But if you do want to...?”

        “Not really, but...”

Gathering his thoughts, Chris searched his arm for a blank patch of skin. 

        “Here.”

Mike held out his arm.

        “You sure?”

Mike nodded.

Chris smiled weakly and took Mike’s arm, laying it across his knee. Pen in hand, he set to work on the fresh canvas. A few strokes in, he was colouring the iris of a crudely drawn eye.

        “So. What happened?”

        “I thought you’da heard it all by now.”

        “Hey, some drama I like to stay out of.”

        “Yeah...” Chris straightened a little, trying to decide where to begin. “Well, I mean, he… It wasn't exactly my call, you know?”

He glanced up at Mike with a bitter smile. 

        “Ah.”

        “It is what it is,” Chris muttered.

        _Just a ‘thing’ that happened._

        “How you holding up?”

        “I’ve been better,” he admitted, as cheerily as he could manage. 

It was an understatement, but Chris didn’t feel like elaborating about his time alone. Those first few days had seemed so long; the hours dragging, slowed down by unwelcome thoughts and the cold, hard facts of what had happened.

Still, life had gone on, routine pulling him forward. He sat through classes, the words washing over him until it was time to leave and… do what? He knew he needed to be around other people. He had friends he could’ve seen, they would have made the time. But when it came to following through on it, he just… hadn’t.

His attention returned to Mike’s arm.

He’d told himself he wouldn't contact Josh. But in those quiet moments of weakness, the temptation was too great. It didn’t matter though. He was met with silence; every buzz of his phone, every email alert, every push notification greeted by the same rush of hope and dread. Then, disappointment.

When the need to know became too much, he made the journey to Josh’s old dorm room, just to see if he was still there, just to talk, just to whatever the fuck excuse he could think of. But Josh’s roommate seemed to know as little as he did. Not knowing where else to turn, he’d even considered calling Josh’s parents. But he hadn’t. He’d chickened out. They had enough to deal with without him adding to it.

Josh was gone.

Chris began another doodle. A pair of lips.

How was he really feeling?

        _Betrayed. Hurt. Stupid._

Mike didn’t need to know about it.

        “Did he say why?”

        “I mean, kind of?”

Chris frowned at Mike as if he might somehow hold the answer because hell, Mike’s guess was as good as his. Josh had given his reasons, but they were so flimsy and far-removed from what Chris suspected the truth was that he felt lost just thinking about it.

        “I didn’t see it coming, you know?” he added. “I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.”

He returned to the eye and added lashes to it. When he looked up from his work, Mike was watching him, wearing a sympathetic smile.

        _Stop talking about it. You’re at a party. He doesn’t want to hear about your shit all night._

        “What about you?”

        “Eh, can’t complain,” Mike said, gaze wandering to the girls on the porch.

        “What about Em?”

Chris immediately regretted the question and wondered if he’d touched a nerve. But, judging by Mike’s wry amusement, it seemed okay.

        “ _Well_.” Mike withdrew his arm then plucked the pen from Chris’ fingers. “Yeah, it’s been a while, but... Still weird sometimes.”

Mike held the blond by the wrist, guiding Chris’ right arm until it rested palm up across his thigh. After considering the empty space, he began to draw.

        “Not much to say. Pretty sure it’s _over_ over this time.”

        “Shit, man. I'm sorry.”

        “It’s okay.” He renewed his hold on Chris’ wrist and gently turned his arm. “Pretty sure she’s seeing someone now too.”

        “Why d’you think that?”

        “People talk. I mean, she was always going to eventually, but…”

Mike was close, shoulder pressed firmly against Chris’ own while he added more green lines to Chris’ skin. Chris watched him, stealing guilty glimpses from the corner of his eye.

It was funny how differently he saw everyone now. Before, Chris wouldn’t have given most people a second thought. Not seriously, at least. He recognised attractiveness and could appreciate it, sure. But without the desire to act on it, he’d developed an unconscious filter that kept him in check. 

Firm pen-strokes joined the others; wet ink against Chris’ skin. He swallowed, turning his head.

Mike had always been attractive - a persistent crush that had never fully gone away - and not just in the obvious physical way that had people buzzing around him, there was more to it than that. So much of it was down to how he carried himself, exuding a confidence that Chris had only ever touched upon; self-assured, almost bordering on arrogant. Even now, mulling over the last stretch of a failed relationship, Mike seemed unfazed.

Confidence - that was the key. But then, Mike had every reason to be. Nobody was perfect, Chris knew that. Mike had his failings. But, looking at him now, Chris couldn’t quite put his finger on what they were.

Chris watched Mike draw, unaware of his consideration. 

Man, he was pretty, though. Now that he was single, Chris’ idle observations were dwelt on, perhaps given strength by the possibility of them going somewhere. Up close, Mike’s appeal was magnified. The line of his jaw, those eyes, that mouth… 

        _“Nothin’ clever to say?”_

Chris flushed at the memory. Mike looked calm enough right then, but Chris had seen another side of him, Mike’s well-maintained image slowly coming undone before his eyes.

And now, after all the time that had passed, the filter was gone. Anything was possible.

It was a strangely disquieting thought.

        _Like it even matters. You've already blown it._

The night hadn’t gone how Chris hoped it would. In his head, things had been different. He’d been flirty and funny, effortlessly plucking the right words from the air. He’d been the kind of person who _might_ just get someone like Mike Munroe into bed. But plans had a way of falling through, he knew that now. Though he couldn’t claim to be the smoothest guy, Chris was pretty sure unloading about Josh wasn’t exactly a turn on.

Chris suppressed a sigh. It had been a spiteful, far-fetched notion at best, and maybe it was better off that way.

        “Well?”

       Jogged from his thoughts, Chris looked down at where the pen had halted just shy of his elbow. “What’s that supposed to be?”

        “It’s a truck,” Mike replied, as though it was obvious. 

        “It is?”

Mike scowled. Holding Chris’ arm in place, he quickly penned another doodle.

        “There. How’s that? That better?”

        “Dude…”

Chris stared at his forearm, now home to a crudely drawn cock and balls.

        “You recognise it this time, huh?”

Chris tried to be mad, but it was difficult with Mike smirking, looking a little too pleased with himself. When Mike’s amusement persisted, Chris snatched the pen, flinging it across the grass.

        “Asshole.”

        “This stuff’s a bitch to wash off, you know,” Mike replied, laughing softly.

        “Great.”

Mike’s laughter gradually calmed to a soft smile. In the quiet that followed, Chris reached for his drink, gaze drawn to the strings of coloured lights in the tree branches. It felt good to laugh again, a moment’s respite from brooding.

Then he remembered, and the lightness left as quickly as it came.

He masked the downturn of his mouth with the cup, chuckle fading.

        “It’s not so bad,” Mike said, guessing at Chris’ thoughts.

        “Really?”

Doubt and hope coloured the question. Despite Mike’s assurance, it didn’t seem like there was anything that could make it feel tolerable, let alone ‘not so bad’. Chris wanted to believe it would be good again - he _had_ to believe it or he’d go mad - but it didn’t feel like it could be. 

        “Sure. You’re gonna be fine.” Mike leaned back against the bench with a relaxed sigh. “Just think, you can do whatever you want now.”

Proving the point, he took Chris' cup and drained it. He handed it back empty, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. 

        “Besides, you’re alright. Got stuff going for you.”

        “Yeah?”

Chris wasn't fishing for compliments, though maybe it sounded that way. Regardless, Mike indulged him.

        “You calling me a liar?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chris smiled down at his lap. He was suddenly very aware of how close they were; the arm spread along the bench behind him; the leg pressing against his own as Mike turned away to look out over the yard.

        “Thanks, man.”

        “Yeah, we’re gonna be fine,” Mike murmured, patting Chris’ shoulder. “Their loss, huh?”

Sometimes, a moment presented itself; an invisible fork in the road that could take you so many different ways. You could let it pass, if you wanted to, and keep walking the same path as before. Or you could choose a different course. Maybe discover a new path altogether.

Chris took a breath. Swallowed.

Sitting beneath the coloured lights with Mike felt an awful lot like a moment waiting to happen.

        _I can do whatever I want._

Mike was right, he didn’t have anyone else to think about anymore. He didn’t need permission. It hadn’t been Chris’ choice, but it was true. 

        _Whatever_ I _want._

Right then, he wanted to kiss Mike.

Chris turned on the bench and let the empty cup fall to the ground. The sinking feeling was there, but it was taking a backseat to the restless rabble of butterflies in his chest. He’d done this before, but it felt different this time, like there was more riding on it.

For the first time in a while, he felt nervous.

        “Mike?”

        “Hmm?”

        _Do it. Just go for it._

Before he could change his mind, Chris pressed his lips to Mike's, catching the brunette off guard. A moment later, he pulled away, heart thudding as he searched Mike's face for a reaction, wondering just how badly he'd fucked up this time.

Mike didn’t say anything, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

Seconds passed and still nothing.

        _Oh… fuck._

Chris cringed. If he hadn't blown it before, he had now. What the hell had he been thinking, pulling a stunt like that? And with people nearby?

        _And this is when he shoots you down._

Mike was still staring at him, gaze torn between Chris' eyes and mouth.

        _Okay. Five seconds and you laugh it off. Five, four, thr--_

But there was no three.

It was Chris’ turn to be taken by surprise; eyes widening then falling shut as Mike broached the gap and kissed him; lips parting against his own. He leaned into it, grip tightening on Mike’s arm, eager to reciprocate. But Mike didn’t rush, drawing him in with slow, unhurried movements of his mouth, taking his time till Chris felt like he was sinking into it. 

He felt Mike’s hand on his chest, smoothing its way across his stomach, and edged closer. And suddenly it was as if a light had switched on - reassuring and distantly familiar - the way Mike kissed slowly returning to him like the lyrics of a song he hadn't heard for a long, long time.

An involuntary sound caught in his throat as sure fingers found his waist, suppressed before it could surface, swallowed down by a kiss that made his pulse quicken and toes curl. The kind of kiss that got him hard and made him melt at the same time, willing the hand on his thigh that little bit higher.

Mike pulled back, but lingered, hand stilling on Chris’ knee as the blond slowly opened his eyes. 

       Chris blinked a few times, his dumbfounded expression giving way to a small, crooked smile that warmed his eyes. “...huh.”

        “I told you, you’re alright.”

At that, Chris quirked his eyebrows, smile broadening as he glanced away, suddenly bashful.

Mike glanced out over the yard then met Chris’ gaze again, brown eyes dark and thoughtful as he wet his lips.

        “...You wanna take this upstairs?”

        “Yeah.”

Chris’ answer was too quick, too eager, but Mike didn't comment. His mouth twitched into a slight smile.

And that was that. There was nothing more to say.

~*~

Mike got to his feet with Chris following a pace behind, flattening grass beneath his sneakers as they crossed the lawn. Chris mumbled a vague apology as they passed through the group of girls gathered on the porch, but it went unacknowledged.

        _You did it._

He felt strange, like he’d drunk too much or maybe not enough, he wasn’t sure. His feet were moving automatically, mind distracted; thrown off kilter by a swirl of competing emotions, one riding higher than the rest - a sense of accomplishment and validation that quickened his pace.

He’d done it. He’d kissed Mike. And now this was happening.

The music hit him hard, a wall of sound and people in their path. It was dark and bright all at once; white shirts and neon colours glowing against the shadowed room. But Mike didn’t stop. Chris followed him, their presence ignored amid the noise, and when the crowd threatened to separate them, Mike’s hand found Chris’ wrist. Eyes forward, the brunette led him on.

He followed Mike’s back when they reached the hall, palm trailing along the handrail as they climbed the stairs and... fuck, this was really, actually happening, wasn’t it?

A sweet tangle of nervous excitement fluttered in Chris' chest. He’d thought it was a long shot - an idea he'd clung to as some sort of malicious payback fantasy - something that would never _really_ happen. But it was. And it had been easy, after all.

He edged around a couple on the staircase and jogged the last few steps, keeping pace with Mike along the corridor, passing people he didn’t know or care to know. Even in the dark, he recognised the look in Mike's eye as he glanced over his shoulder, flashing him a smile. There was heat there, a private joke shared by them alone, laced with a dangerous edge; a look that said so much without a word and made his stomach flip.

Rounding a corner, they finally reached the door to Mike’s room. Mike turned the handle, frowning when he met resistance. Chris waited a step behind while Mike tried again before the brunette finally took a different tack. A few barges with his shoulder and the door opened.

Mike looked down at the chair, lying on its side, no longer blocking the door.

The room wasn’t quite as empty as he’d hoped.

His roommate’s bedside lamp was on, illuminating the couple fooling around on the bed. A quick glance confirmed he didn’t know them. Unimpressed, he flicked the light switch a few times, catching their attention.

        “Out.”

The girl’s eyes widened. She sat up, hastily adjusting her top while the guy beside her met the request with disbelief.

        “What?”

        “Out,” Mike said simply, standing expectantly by the door.

        “Come on, man--”

        “You know where you are? Does this _look_ like your house?” Mike cocked his head. “Out or you’re _out_ , got it?”

The guy looked put out, but Mike knew there wasn’t anything he could say. Reluctantly, he got to his feet.

Chris stepped aside as the couple sheepishly passed through the doorway. When he lifted his gaze, Mike was already inside, inviting him in with a jut of his chin. His slight, suggestive smile was back in place, as though it had never left; the conversation of moments before a fleeting lapse.

Chris followed him inside, closing the door behind him.

It was quieter upstairs, but only just. With the music muffled to a buzz beneath their feet, the room seemed somehow smaller than it had that afternoon; a pocket of calm removed from the rest of the world. He watched Mike tuck the chair under the desk then glanced beyond him to the rumpled sheets and unfinished drinks left on the nightstand. He waited there, observing Mike with quiet anticipation. But Mike seemed to have other ideas. 

Mike walked away to the far side of the room. Palm pressed to the closet door, he reached up, blindly feeling around on top of it. 

        “Uh…”

Before Chris could question it, Mike returned to the door with a knife, a bent fork and an elastic band in hand and ushered him aside. 

        “What are you…?”

Mike pulled the door ajar and slipped the bent prongs into the door jamb before closing it, trapping the fork. The knife followed, slotted neatly between the prongs and held in place with the elastic band in a practiced movement. He checked the handle a final time then flicked the light switch.

        “ _That’s_ how you lock a door.”

He turned to Chris, clearly pleased with himself. Judging by the ease of the motion, it wasn’t the first time Mike had needed a little privacy.

        “ _Oh_.” Chris’ frown became a soft, amused smile as it finally clicked. He chuckled, trailing off when Mike met his gaze.

        “Yeah.”

Mike’s hands found Chris’ hips. He tilted his head and leaned in closer, his touch received with a surge of warmth that made Chris’ thoughts stutter. 

        “So...” A smile played on Mike’s lips, made warm by the lamplight. The dangerous gleam was back, a wolfish flicker in his eyes that made Chris feel weak. “...Where were we?”

Fuck, he wanted him.

And now there was nothing stopping him.

Chris gave in to the thought and met Mike’s lips as surely as before. Feeling bold, he pushed Mike against the door, holding him by the shoulder with one hand, the other pressing against the wood as Mike’s arms circled his waist and pulled him closer; the mouth on his own all the encouragement Chris needed. 

He’d missed this; getting caught up in someone and not having to think about it, just going with what felt natural. It felt like forever since the last time. He’d been nervous, he couldn’t deny that - back downstairs when he hadn’t known Mike’s thoughts - but they were in familiar territory now, reading from the same page. Finally, his nerves had gone.

Mike’s hands ran along his sides, settling on his hips again, gently urging Chris against him. 

        _But…_

Chris tried to ignore it, burying it beneath the ache of Mike’s body against his own, but the thought persisted. They’d done this before, and more. He _knew_ this. But it wasn’t the same. He felt something else this time; a desperate edge that made him needy, and a surge of something unfamiliar. Something spiteful.

The reasons, the situation...

It was different this time.

Mike smoothed his hand along Chris’ arm but was suddenly pressed back against the wood, the move cut short as Chris kissed him more urgently, pinning his wrist to the wall. He didn’t fight it, Chris’ tight grip sending a thrill of want through him that held him in place.

He could have claimed he hadn’t hoped for this, but it would’ve been a lie. The truth was, Mike had been thinking about it all day. Hell, all _week_. There was something appealing about hook ups like this; an unspoken understanding that stripped away all the bullshit preamble. Chris wanted an easy fit, they both did. Someone familiar, no strings attached. At least, Mike _assumed_ no strings.

He pushed the thought aside, succumbing to a trade of hungry kisses. He remembered the feeling of sure hands on his waist, easing him lower; of Chris’ breath, hot and laboured against his neck, the memories made blurry at the edges by the passing of time. But he planned to change all that. Unlike last time, Mike intended to remember every little thing.

Chris’ mouth slid to his cheek, but his grip didn’t waver. He pulled back, but barely, forehead pressed to Mike’s temple.

        “Mike…”

The word was a murmur in Mike’s ear, low and husky. Almost a question. One that Mike knew the answer to.

Mike turned his head, a soft breath of laughter warming Chris’ skin.

        “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was enough to loosen Chris’ grip, but he lingered there, close and uncertain, hesitance dancing in his eyes.

        “Hey… I’m into it.” Mike slowly pushed away from the door, moving further into Chris’ space. He stole a kiss, then another, pulling back to meet Chris’ eye. “But maybe over there, huh?”

       It was difficult not to mirror Mike’s broadening smile; easy-going with just the right amount of tension. A few more kisses and Chris was matching it, in on the private joke again. “Yeah?”

        “ _Oh_ yeah…”

Mike kissed Chris again and slowly walked him backward, each step marked by snatched kisses until Chris felt the bed frame against his legs. He held Mike’s arm, the other grasping his neck as he pulled Mike against him, mouth turning hungry while possessive fingers stroked upward, splaying in brown hair. 

How many times had he thought about doing this?

Mike kissed him hard, biting back a sound that Chris couldn’t help but match, gut tightening like a coil. He felt hands against his skin, smoothing under his shirt; Mike’s chest against his own, tension through his clothes. 

        _Way too many._

Chris pushed back harder, spurred on by the thought as Mike’s tongue slid against his own. 

And then he felt it; unwelcome and unprovoked, not for the first time but stronger than before. A sinking feeling that differed from the other weighing him down.

Guilt.

He tried to force it down.

        _Fuck it. You can do whatever or_ who _ever you want._

Josh hadn’t been in touch for weeks; perhaps the longest Chris could remember ever going without hearing from him. As far as Chris knew, Josh didn’t give a fuck about what he was doing. And who knew what Josh was up to now?

The thought of Josh without him, or worse, with someone else...

He felt a spike of anger, hurt feelings manifesting in a hard kiss, tugging Mike's hair harder than he meant to. But Mike didn't mind, greeting the move with an approving moan.

With Mike’s hands roaming his body, wearing him down and working him up, the feeling soon passed. It felt so good being held instead of pushed away. Being _wanted_.

        “You okay?”

Mike broke away long enough to ask the question, quick brown eyes regarding Chris curiously, prompted by sensed hesitation. But Chris didn't answer. His mouth returned to Mike's, distracting enough to silence the question while he busied himself with Mike’s zipper.

He kicked off his sneakers one by one, the movements clumsy enough for Mike to chuckle against his mouth. A moment later, Mike’s hands joined his own, working loose the button of Chris’ jeans and easing them lower till they pooled at his feet.

        _We’re really doing this._

Firm hands pushed Chris backward onto the bed, driving the thought home. 

Mike stepped out of his jeans, mouth forming an appreciative smile as Chris removed his glasses and peered up at him. He recognised that look, half-remembered from what seemed like a lifetime ago; kinda mussed up, hazy blue eyes watching him with an interest that stroked his ego plenty.

He looked the blond up and down, gaze trailing along bare legs and flushed skin. Kneeling on the mattress, he bent down and kissed him.

Chris tugged at Mike’s ruined shirt, and Mike obliged, pulling it up over his head till it was gone, flung away with a breathless grin before the brunette claimed his mouth again. Pressed against the covers, Mike was a welcome weight over him; warm skin beneath his hands, against his thighs. 

Mike nipped his chin, mouth trailing to his throat. 

        “D’you know how long it took for that hickey to fade?” Mike asked, nudging Chris’ head to one side. “How much shit I got for it?”

Chris closed his eyes as Mike sucked a hard bruise into his skin. He clutched Mike’s shoulder, lips parting as he focused on the familiar bittersweet sting that had him pushing back against Mike’s hips.

        “Nn-uh…” 

He ran his hand over Mike’s back, the other smoothing over his ass as he urged him closer, breathing hard when he felt the rub of Mike’s body asking without asking, hard and eager against his own. 

Mike ran his hand along Chris’ thigh, kneading the flesh while he slowly ground against him. Eventually, he relented and pulled away, leaving a dark bruise behind; his own brash mark amid the mess of colour staining Chris’ skin.

Chris felt Mike shift and tracked his movements, watching as he leaned over to fumble on the floor beside the bed. When he returned, Chris closed his eyes, surrendering to heat and friction. There was no slow simmer this time. Mike wasn’t holding back anymore, picking up where they left off in earnest.

It took Chris a second to catch up, blinking in recognition when Mike slipped something between his fingers.

Mike moved further down the bed till he was kneeling between Chris’ legs. He glanced up at the blond, but his interest was firmly elsewhere.

The condom was a sobering weight in Chris' hand; light foil edges against his palm.

        _Okay, so, we-- yeah, we’re... doing this…_

The hand on his thigh silenced Chris’ stammering thoughts, palming him through his shorts before following the hard curve of his dick through the thin material. Another upward glance and Mike’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband, prying it away from his skin.

        “Mmm…” Mike chewed his lip. “Not gonna lie, man. I’ve been thinking about this. All. Day. Long.”

Chris watched, eyes growing heavy as Mike edged his t-shirt up over his stomach and freed him from his shorts.

        _Yeah, we’re definitely--_

His jaw fell slack, breath catching when he felt the first hot swipe of tongue against his skin.

Mike held his gaze and trailed upwards, slow and wet, till Chris was nudging against his mouth. He let the head slip between his lips, sucking before inching down further, flattening his tongue along heated skin.

        _Fuck…_

How many times had he pictured Mike like this?

Chris let out a moan, almost a sigh, breath heavy in his throat as Mike focused on the task at hand, fingers curling around the base of his dick. He peered down the bed, stomach twisting into knots when Mike shifted between his legs and spread them a little further apart, free hand folding over his thigh.

Though the fantasy sometimes differed, the crux remained unchanged. Mike had been a recurring guest star of Chris’ private thoughts for as long as he’d had them; a reliable presence. Now that it was happening, the secret desires of his early teens seemed a weak substitute for the scene playing out before his eyes.

He traced Mike’s bottom lip with his thumb, pulling gently, just enough for Mike to get the message, mouth widening a touch. Breath hoarded up in his chest, Chris eased himself further into the warmth of Mike’s mouth, cradling the base of Mike’s skull and guiding him, the brunette taking him in a little more with each slow bob of his head. 

Chris shuddered, a low hiss escaping through clenched teeth as Mike swallowed around him, brow creasing with the effort.

No, what he’d imagined was nothing compared to this. 

The condom fell forgotten to the comforter. Soon, Chris was sinking back against the pillow, his hand in Mike’s hair. He closed his eyes and gave in to firm lips and wet heat, Mike humming as freed up fingers raked across his scalp.

        “Juh--”

Chris bit back the slip, mouth clamping shut, but he couldn’t ignore the pang of disquiet that came with it. It had rolled off his tongue so readily, the habit so deeply ingrained that the lapse took him by surprise. 

He tried to ignore it, both hands tangling in Mike’s hair, fingers tight and shaky. 

        _Last time._

They were alone now, but memories of the last time they’d shared a bed lingered; facts Chris couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried. Josh had been there last time, looking back at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Somehow, even now, Chris couldn’t shake the image. 

He looked down the bed to ground himself, the sight triggering a flare of pure want. It was difficult to think straight anymore. He didn’t _want_ to think anymore, but…

        _Last time._

Chris turned his head and frowned frustration.

Couldn't he have _one_ memory that Josh didn't haunt?

Mike pulled back with a pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the tip of Chris' cock, mouth and chin glistening wetly. He lazily pumped his fist around Chris, eyes flicking between his hand and Chris' increasingly troubled expression. A hint of confusion passed behind his eyes, one hand dragging over his mouth before Chris’ hand bade him closer. He climbed further up the bed, the question fading from mind when Chris pulled him into a kiss.

Chris held Mike more firmly against him, fingers tightening on Mike’s shoulder, and damn it if Mike didn’t feel just as good as before. He could still remember the sounds Mike made the last time they’d been together; the feeling of his body, so hot and hard and _tight._

So why couldn’t he just relax and--

Mike pulled away and searched Chris’ gaze. A flicker of uncertainty was there. One that made him pause.

        “What?”

        “...You don’t want this.”

It wasn’t a question.

       Chris blinked up at him, wide-eyed, lips forming an incredulous smile. “Wha… Huh?”

        “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else right now.”

        “No, I…”

But he did.

He wanted to be far away. He wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep; to turn it all off and not have to deal with anything. He’d spent countless hours psyching himself up for this over the weeks that had passed since that first invitation. He’d imagined how it might go - how he _wanted_ it to go - but it wasn’t supposed to feel like _this_.

Mike was watching him, close and quiet. The heat was leaving his eyes, replaced with hushed concern.

        _This is what you wanted. This is why you came here._

And he did still want Mike in the crude way he'd always sort of wanted Mike - something physical and superficial - but he wanted something more than that, he knew that then.

Chris lifted his head from the pillow, arching up to kiss Mike and silence the unwanted thoughts, and just _get it over with_. But Mike pulled back. That answer wasn’t good enough this time.

        “...Chris?”

One word was all it took for the scales to tip and the spite and lust to flip-flop into a swell of sadness he’d been fighting back all night. Still, to the end, Chris tried to muster up a smile, but it was a losing battle.

He didn't want this. He didn't want a fuck just for the sake of getting his own back or whatever it was he thought he was doing. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up with an arm draped over him and dark brown hair tickling his cheek. He wanted easy jokes and the wry smile he couldn't help matching. He wanted the hand that used to find his own so easily.

He wanted Josh. That's what it boiled down to, no matter how much he tried to talk himself out of it.

        “Fuck…”

Chris covered his face with ink-stained hands, voice small and cracking, taking them both by surprise. 

        “Whoa.”

Mike edged back, giving Chris more room before moving away completely. Chris hurriedly adjusted his underwear, covering himself before sinking back into the pillow, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes.

The silence dragged out, seemingly endless, weighing him down.

        _This is great. Fucking perfect._ Exactly _what I had in mind._

        “...You okay?”

Mike’s voice seemed to come from far away, but not far enough.

        “Hah...”

Bitter amusement clogged his throat. How was he supposed to answer that? If Mike wanted honesty then fuck no, he wasn’t okay. But for some reason, Chris still couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

When he finally dared to open his eyes, Mike was sitting on the bed beside him, regarding him quietly.

        “Ugh…”

Chris threw his arm across his face, blotting out the room again. Without Mike over him - lying there in his t-shirt and underwear - he felt exposed, but couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it.

He felt the mattress move beneath him and heard the rustling of material. 

Mike was getting dressed.

He’d blown it.

       Chris’ arm slid onto the pillow above his head. He stared up at the ceiling, willing his voice steady. “Sorry.”

        “For what? People do stuff they wouldn’t usually do on the rebound. I get it.”

        “It’s not--”

       Mike waved the apology away and smirked, slight and small. “Hey, I knew what this was.”

 _Now_ Chris felt like shit. There he was, thinking he was some kind of mastermind, as if Mike hadn't seen through all of it. The whole trip had been made with the sole intention of hooking up, they both knew it; if not with Mike then someone else maybe, it had always been a possibility. But having it spelled out so simply?

        “Are _you_ okay?” Chris managed weakly.

       Mike exhaled through pursed lips, “Yeah, just... give me a minute to switch gears.”

Chris slowly sat up, sock-clad feet pressed to the carpet. The floor vibrated beneath them, the music seeming a million miles away.

After a moment’s consideration, Mike cautiously sat down beside him.

It was how the rebound went, following the same philosophy shared by all the other times that had come before - the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. But, despite what had happened, the tried and tested adage wasn’t going to work this time.  
Mike had seen them together. Not just when that other thing happened last time. That was different; a drunk and messy exception. But that first night at the Washington lodge, Chris had been happy in a way Mike had never been with any of the girls hanging off his arm, not even Em. He’d seen it, clear as day. Hell, he’d slept in the next room.

Deep down, Mike had known all along. Chris wasn’t over Josh. Not by a long shot. Not even close.

        “Look… it’s not you, okay? _Trust_ me.” Mike ventured a smile. “Go out, sleep around. Do whatever you need to. But I don’t wanna be a part of it.” He sighed and met Chris’ eye. “ _I_ don’t wanna be something you regret.”

It was the truth. Disappointed or not, the idea of muddying their friendship with something Chris didn’t really want was enough to make it true.

        “If it's any consolation, I would love to…”

        _... Screw your brains out... Fuck like rabbits... Ride you like a racehorse..._

        “...Finish this, but… not like this.”

Chris swallowed, jaw clenching as he fought back a fresh wave of sorrow. He’d fucked up. Again. Why did it even surprise him anymore? It seemed like that was all he was doing these days: fucking up and being rejected.

        “Fuck. This is so… _fuck_.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his bare knees as he held his head in his hands, voice catching in his throat. 

        _You are not fucking crying in front of Mike. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Despite the thought, he was getting dangerously close to crying in front of Mike.

        “Ugh… I’m such a fucking _loser_.”

Mike sat there, rendered silent. Chris sounded mad at himself, almost tearful; a far cry from the guy who’d been kissing him so eagerly mere moments before. He lifted his hand and considered placing his hand on Chris’ back, but thought better of it, settling for the blond’s shoulder instead.

        “You’re not, okay?”

Chris pushed up from his knees. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up to the ceiling, taking a long, deep breath, composing himself. After a moment, his expression settled.

        “Your friends are probably looking for you,” he murmured, small and quiet.

        “Meh.” Mike shrugged. “They're busy trying to hook up, don't sweat it.”

        “Seriously, if you wanna go--”

        “No, it’s... fine.”

Mike watched him, wondering how the night had ended up this way. What was he supposed to say that could make any of this better? He’d consoled people. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in this exact situation more than once. But this was something else.

Chris was staring off towards the door, but he didn’t seem to see it, his focus lost to a sad acceptance that made him look utterly defeated.

It was Chris. And that made it different.

Mike reached across to the nightstand, handing Chris his glasses.

        “Hey. You wanna stay up here and be losers together?”

Chris looked at the glasses then met Mike’s gaze. He managed to brighten, just a touch, lips forming a wobbly smile. Mike was trying, in his own way.

        “Yeah.” He gave a slight nod and a weak, self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, man. I'd like that.”

Chris fished his jeans from the floor and pulled them on, his movements more self-conscious than before. He looked down at his arms, sighing at the childish scribbles littering his skin. 

        “You want anything?” Mike asked. “I can get us some beers or something?”

        “No, I’m good for-- it’s okay.”

Chris sank into the mattress, lying down once more. He felt tired and heavy, worn out and drained.

        _Good going, Hartley. You nailed this one._

        “Man, this is so fucking stupid.”

A hard bubble of twisted amusement rose in his chest, a brief, awkward bout of laughter escaping him. He’d fucked up, as usual, but if he didn’t laugh about it, he’d cry.

He felt it pop, the heaviness returning when Mike looked back at him, quietly sympathetic.

        “Just… talk to me.”

        “About what?”

        “Anything. Stupid shit, I don't care. Whatever.”

       Mike shifted on the bed by Chris’ knees and chanced a smile. “Like what? Sports?”

        “Sure, why not?” Chris mustered up a weak smile.

        “Well…” Mike leaned back on his palms, thoughtful for a moment. “I started playing lacrosse.”

       Chris looked at him curiously, weak smile gaining a little strength when Mike met his eye.

        “Yeah. I thought you'd like that one.”

        “With the nets on the sticks?” Chris asked.

        “Yeah.”

       Chris blinked at him; eyes warming with amused disbelief. “How did _that_ happen?”

        “How does anything happen?” Mike shrugged, brushing it off.

The bed shook softly with the welcome sound of Chris’ mirth, but it was fleeting; giving way to a lost look, gaze trained on the ceiling once more. It was going to take more than a few laughs to make this okay.

        “It's not okay now, but it will be,” Mike offered, filling the silence that had opened up. “You'll wake up one day and not think about it.

        “I don't want… I don’t want to not think about… him.” Chris trailed off to a sigh. “I didn't think Josh would be my ex-anything, you know?"

It hurt to say his name. Why did it hurt to say his name? It was just a word.

Chris rolled onto his side, earnest eyes searching Mike’s gaze for answers.

        “How do you do it? Just be fine with it?”

He could have reeled off a reassuring platitude or an easy cliché, but Mike stopped to consider it. He owed Chris more than that. 

        “Maybe I'm not?” Mike admitted. “With Em… that was a long time coming. We're too similar. Sometimes it doesn't work out the way you think it will.”

Chris was quiet for a long moment. Thoughtful.

        “Stop being nice. It's weird.”

        “Gee, thanks,” Mike muttered through a faux glare.

Chris smiled weakly, finding it easier to hold Mike’s gaze than before. Eventually, Mike’s glower faded.

        “I meant what I said. You're not so bad,” Mike smirked. “The crying thing doesn’t really do it for _me_ , but someone's probably into it.”

        “Oh, fuck you, man.” 

He met Mike’s smile, watching as the brunette’s smirk softened into something more genuine.

This was better, getting some of the weight off his chest and clearing the air. It was still there, following everything he did just a few paces behind, but for that brief moment, Chris didn't feel so alone with it.

Maybe he'd feel like shit the next day. And the day after that. Maybe he’d feel shit for a while. But, right then, it felt almost okay.

Just knowing it was possible to feel that way again was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> [Art for this fic (NSFWish)](https://desperado-raspado.tumblr.com/post/166975048480/kinktober-day-31-bodypaint-finally-drawing)
> 
> Tumblr: [@messofcurls-creative](https://messofcurls-creative.tumblr.com/)


End file.
